Free Storming Heaven by Kyle Mills

had swelled to over eleven million members worldwide, and their influence over the Flagstaff area, and Arizona in general, continued to expand.
    He turned to Carrie to ask her a question about the progress of the ceremony, or more accuratelywhen the hell it would be over, but she seemed to be lost in the thoughts she was scribbling into the notebook on her lap. He sighed quietly and looked around him.
    The cathedral surrounding them had been only recently completed, but the architecture and carefully chosen materials gave it a look of permanence usually reserved for buildings hundreds of years old. The complex grid of arches supporting the ceiling were hewn of a light wood and tipped with ornate geometric carvings that dangled into space like stalactites. That touch of vaguely Scandinavian informality was countered by the heavy stone of the walls—a few of which had water running down their mossy faces into marble pools.
    Despite its size, the church was packed. With few exceptions, the congregation had that well turned out but unimaginative way of dressing and impeccable grooming that the world had come to associate with followers of Kneiss.
    At the altar, the bride and groom were passing their hands ceremoniously through the flame of an ornate candle held by a pious-looking man spouting some mumbo-jumbo about purification.
    Beamon looked over at Carrie, who was still scribbling furiously, and decided to interrupt her. He had never been much for long religious spectacles. By now, even God had to be about ready for a couple of stiff drinks and a cocktail weenie.
    “Nice ceremony,” he whispered.
    She looked up from her pad and smiled.
    “Uh, about how much longer do they generally go on?”
    “Don’t really know, Mark. I’ve never been to one of these.”
    “Really? You mean you’re not….”
    “A Kneissian? No.”
    Beamon nodded silently but decided to exercise a little more of his curiosity while he had her talking. “What’s that you keep writing?”
    She looked around conspiratorially and leaned so close that he could feel her lips brush against his ear. “I’m doing a study on how religious affiliation can influence various psychoses. I don’t really know that much about this faith, and I thought this would be helpful.”
    Beamon let that process for a moment.
    “Lucky you knew a Kneissian who happened to be getting married this weekend,” he said hopefully.
    Her expression went blank for a moment.
    “We’re crashing this wedding, aren’t we, Carrie?”
    “‘Crashing’ is such an ugly w—”
    The congregation stood and the sound of rustling clothes and dropping Bibles drowned out the rest of Carrie’s sentence.
    Beamon smiled politely and waved at the young couple as they walked elatedly down the aisle, followed by their attendants. He leaned over to Carrie again. “They make such a nice couple. And what a beautiful wedding. I can’t wait for the reception.”
    “I wasn’t really planning on going to the reception,” Carrie said. “I think that might be pushing it.”
    “Are you kidding? There’s no way I’m sitting through an,” he looked at his watch, “hour-and-twenty-minutewedding ceremony and not going to the reception.”
    “I thought maybe I’d take you out to dinner instead,” she said, starting to sound a bit apprehensive.
    Beamon shook his head. “Wouldn’t be much of a substitute, would it?”
    Now this
was
fun. Already it had completely made up for that endless ceremony.
    The conference room of the Radisson, lined with balloons and paper streamers for the occasion, had been set up with countless small round tables, each surrounded by tipsy wedding revelers. The band at the other end of the room had just started and the table where he and Carrie sat had been abandoned at the first chords of “Louie Louie.”
    Beamon swirled a shrimp in a blob of cream cheese and popped it in his mouth. One thing he had to say about the Kneissians—they could really throw a party.